Please Don't Mind the Unicorns
by Conniving
Summary: Poland always claimed it was really a documentary. Oddly enough, it turned out he was right. When strange ponies start falling out of the sky, Twilight and her friends discover that they only THOUGHT they knew what chaos was.
1. The Russia Game Commences

Please Don't Mind the Unicorns

Chapter One: The Russia Game Commences

Russia was not mean. Or insane. Or demented. Yes, he did have his moments, but they were just that—moments. They said nothing about his true personality.

Nothing at all.

That time he almost split England's head open with a pickaxe—he was only trying to help! How was HE supposed to know that it would cause his friendinstantaneous death?

He pondered this as he waited very patiently for the other nations to arrive. The absurdly large table that occupied the majority of the room remained empty, save for Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia, who cowered together like frightened mice, seated as far away from the ex-Communist as they possibly could. Russia smiled.

"I hope nothing…unfortunate has happened to our friends, da? What do you think, Latvia?"

"I think they decided that you're a creep and stayed home," Latvia said bluntly.

Russia continued smiling as the temperature in the room plummeted dangerously.

"I said I think that they said the weather was neat and ate snow," Latvia amended hastily. Russia must have found this answer to be acceptable, because the concentration of doom in the atmosphere lessened considerably. Russia knit his eyebrows.

"That would make sense…though I had never imagined Germany to be the snow-eating type. Italy and America perhaps, but _Germany_? Ah well, I suppose there is a first time for everything, but still, I worry. How can they become one with mother Russia if they are not here? Lithuania, why don't you call that Poland and ask him why I am alone, you are on good terms with him, da?"

"W-well—,"

"Splendid!"

"B-but-," Lithuania started.

Russia smiled innocently. Understandably, Lithuania paled and took a step back.

"Okay." The nation squeaked. In the far corner of the room, Latvia nudged Estonia.

"He's handling this very well," Latvia observed.

"I think I would give him a five-and-a-half for finesse and a six-point-two for composure," Estonia murmured in reply. "That gives Lithuania a total of twenty-eight-point-four points for this week, which means he is now beating you by nine."

Latvia growled and unconsciously made a fist. He knew he should have been happy that for once, his friend was not being sent off to Siberia but today, _just _for today, he wished that Lithuania would mess up.

He DID like winning, after all.

Russia watched as Lithuania walked over to the old-fashioned telephone that hung on the wall nearest to the two other Baltic countries. His hand trembled as he dialed and the others waited anxiously; Russia alone seemed unaffected by the thick cloud of tension that hung over them. The phone rang once, twice, three times. The fourth ring was interrupted by a clacking sound on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Poland! It is your good friend Lithuania! _Russia is here _and is wondering where everybody is. Latvia thinks you're _eating snow. _Remember, _Russia is here _and is anxiously awaiting your answer! Do not forget that _Russia is here,_" he said. He crossed his fingers and hoped that his oblivious friend would notice his subtle hints.

_Please, Poland, oh please say you are eating snow, please say you are eating snow…_ thought Lithuania desperately.

"I'm not-," Poland began. Small scuffling noises drifted through the earpiece.

"_No! You cannot say anything I do not tell you to say! Just hand the phone to me!" _someone yelled in a thick German accent.

Poland _hmmed _thoughtfully, as if he were, for once, actually considering compliance. He went silent, and Lithuania could practically see the smirk on his friend's face.

"No."

"_Why you little-," _(at this point, the other phone was dropped on the floor, effectively cutting off the insult and leaving the rest to the listeners' imaginations. The small scuffling noises resumed)

Some time passed before Poland picked the device up again.

"Yes, yes, we are all like, together, totally eating snow right now," he confirmed.

Estonia raised an eyebrow at Latvia, who shrugged.

"We are all eating this snow because..." Poland trailed off uncertainly. Even though he was aware that Poland couldn't see him, Lithuania nodded encouragingly into the receiver. "Because it will like, be a totally useful skill when we all like-," he broke off again and clapped a hand over the mouthpiece. There was a pause. "It will be useful when we become, like, one with Russia, you know?"

Russia seemed very pleased with this statement, and that somehow made him even more disturbing than normal. Lithuania silently placed the phone back down as fighting broke out on Poland's end and rubbed his hands together nervously.

The other Baltics shivered and shrank back. Russia chortled and clapped gleefully.

"This is great news! We shall prepare a feast to celebrate, da? I would like the table set, the missiles polished, and a new set of tutus sewn before my new territories arrive," he said. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "And see if you can acquire some of England's scones; I've heard they are particularly potent around this time of year."

With that, he swept out of the room, his scarf trailing dramatically, leaving the faint sound of _kolkolkol-_ing hanging in the wake of his departure.

The three men stood next to each other awkwardly. The remnants of Russia's Infamous Menacing Aura of Doom constricted any forms of relief that may have otherwise manifested in Russia's absence.

"Well…on the bright side, it could be worse." Estonia said, trying to be optimistic. He glanced at Lithuania with mild concern. The dark-haired nation never reacted well when Russia threatened to expand his vast influence into Poland.

"Meep…" Lithuania squeaked in reply. He seemed to be in some form of shock.

"When he's done with Europe, do you think he would take Alaska first, or the rest of Asia?" Latvia asked Estonia curiously, completely oblivious to poor Lithuania. Estonia nudged his spectacles further onto the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

"That is hard to say. I have not studied his relations with other Asian powers or America as much as I should have; I have always focused more on things that directly affect _us," _the taller nation answered sheepishly.

"Meep…"

"Regardless, Poland and the rest of the world had better find a really good place to hide. Somehow, I doubt that Russia will stop once he hits the Atlantic," said Latvia.

"I am afraid I have to agree with you there. Just try your best not to anger him while he is in Conquest Mode this time." Estonia advised. Latvia shivered at the last bit.

"Meep…" Lithuania whimpered. His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated.

"Should I prepare a room for Poland now, or wait until after the feast?" Estonia asked casually.

Lithuania, upon hearing this, broke out of his stupor and quietly went to a corner to bawl his eyes out.

* * *

"POLAND, YOU MORON!"

"What? I only said what you told me to say!"

"You were supposed to say, 'in case we need to ally ourselves with Russia', not-not _THAT_! Now, thanks to you, I am going to wake up one morning and find _him_ standing on my doorstep, you idiot!" Germany shouted. Several globules of spittle landed in Poland's hair.

"But he like, already does that, so it doesn't matter anyways," Poland pointed out.

"THAT IS NOT THE POINT!"

"Then what is the point?" Poland asked. Germany's eyebrow twitched.

"You know what? Just stop talking and eat the..." He gave the blackened lump in his hand a look that was a cross between concern and uncertainty. "…scone."

Poland was dubious. Nevertheless, he delicately took the object from Germany and warily held it at arm's length.

"Come on, come on. I haven't got all day, I still have to feed Italy," Germany said impatiently.

"Force-feed is more like. It took you like, a half an hour to convince him to even come into the same room as the things! Besides, I can totally see that you haven't even touched _yours_," the cross-dresser argued. He was right; it was fairly easy to tell who had eaten the scones and who had not, and Germany clearly fell into the latter category. In fact, given that everybody present was still standing, it was obvious that nobody was feeling suicidal urges that day.

"Well, I will, once I have made sure that everybody else has eaten theirs," Germany argued defensively. Poland raised an eyebrow. Germany decided to change the subject.

"If we are lucky, if we consume these we will all come down with severe bouts of agonizing food poisoning and miss the meeting in Russia. If we are unlucky, we all die," he explained slowly. He made it all sound very simple.

"But I thought we like, already were excused by saying we would join him," Poland said.

"That has never kept Russia away," Germany replied gravely, "As soon as his celebration preparations are finished, which will probably be tomorrow morning, he will arrive to collect us. Trust me, this is our best option," He suppressed a shudder. "Anyone who does not ingest the…substance…will soon find themselves to no longer be their own nation."

"I like, totally don't have anything to worry about then," Poland said nonchalantly. He smirked, almost as if he was privy to some secret. "I have this like, super-cool technique I use to ward him off."

"And what might that be?" Germany asked skeptically. He found it hard to believe that _Poland _of all people could discover something powerful enough to keep Russia at bay. Maybe he had hidden away a large cache of super-sized, turbo-charged nuclear weaponry, or had developed a new type of gun that could take out a tank with one shot, or maybe even gotten ahold of a magical can of bear spray. Germany brightened. If it _was_ magical bear spray, maybe he could get Norway to make him some. Norway was nice. Nicer than England, anyways.

Poland glanced around to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping, then leaned forward to share his 'secret'.

"I call it…" he said in a low voice, "the Belarus."

Germany froze and almost dropped the plate of scones. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"W-what?"

"Yeah! Whenever I hear that Russia is like, coming over to visit, I just tell the Belarus. Then, like, _POOF_, it appears at my house. Russia comes, Russia sees the Belarus, Russia runs away. Easy." Poland said casually.

"B-but isn't that a bit…" Germany glanced around nervously, "_…dangerous?"_

"Only for Russia," Poland replied. Germany seemed doubtful, but as he was in no position to give warnings about taking risks, he kept his thoughts to himself. It was he, not Poland, who was (unsuccessfully) trying to convince others to swallow England's trademarked Scones of Death, after all.

Germany decided that he would leave his neighboring country be and moved on to his next victim.

* * *

_A/N (this one's a whopper):_

_Before you ask:_

_I use headcanons, and I warp minor characters as needed. _

**_This is MOST DEFINITELY a crossover. Just. Not. Yet. Be patient. I like taking my time to develop a story. Cutting to the chase and getting to the point is something I don't do. I like to let my stories ripen, and I want my crossover to have a somewhat believable origin._**

_I am sorry for any OOC-ness, but remember, this is a crack fic, so it probably IS going to be there. I will try to avoid it, but since this is a humor story, as we all know, humor precedes everything and if some character traits must be sacrificed for the good of the genre, so be it._

_There will be no major OC's in this story. I don't even know if I will even USE OC's. If by some compulsion I decide to throw one in in future chapters, it will be of the BYSTANDER VARIETY, and will have no impact on the plotline._

_I, unfortunately, do not take requests or advice relating to the aforementioned plotline. I am on a roll, and I know how it is going to turn out, I've got everything set in concrete in advance. I regret to say that I am quite possessive of my story, and if you really, really, REALLY want something, then go write one yourself._

_Gosh, that came out wrong._

_What I meant to say was: This story will not be changed to fit your personal needs, however, if you want it that badly, you can write a story of your own and, if you PM me, I will more than happily provide feedback and support. But this story is mine, and it WILL stay that way._

_Constructive feedback is appreciated, flames are not, and complaints will be ignored (see above)._

_Hmm...I think that's about everything._

_I do not own Hetalia, or MLPFiM, which will make its appearance later._

_If this chapter seemed too short to you, please do tell. It actually is HALF of the original chapter one, so if enough people like long chapters, I can post the longer versions. A little bird told me some people are intimidated by really long chapters. _

_Until next time,_

_-Conn_


	2. Never Argue with the Smoke Alarm

Chapter Two: Never Argue with the Smoke Alarm,

Because the Smoke Alarm is Always Right

England hummed merrily. Normally, this would be nothing but a perfectly fine, harmless action, rather than a precursor to the apocalypse.

If this were the case, however, then the toxic-smelling yellowish haze of smoke would most likely not be there, and more importantly, England would be off doing some nice, quiet, peaceful activity such as, for example, embroidering or reading classical literature.

Unfortunately, the needle and thread lay abandoned in the corner and _Pride and Prejudice_ sat on the bookshelf gathering dust.

The oven chimed proudly. England cheerfully danced over to the poor, abused appliance to remove the charred, misshapen lumps he somehow had awarded the title of food.

He pulled the door open and immediately a thick cloud of smoke erupted from within, engulfing the chef and obscuring the lethal bread from view. He waved a hand in front of his face to clear away some of the smoke and peered at his creations with watery eyes.

"Germany's going to love these!" England said to himself. There _had _to be a reason the other country showed up at his house with all of Europe and some of Asia in tow, pressed an assault rifle to his temple and demanded over four dozen scones. Things like that just did not happen without good cause. In fact, it was a complete reverse of what was to be expected. Usually, people avoided his food as if it carried the bubonic plague.

_-Flashback-_

"_Hey guys! Guess what? I made scones and I thought it would be nice if I brought you all some! Now we can share and be friends!" _

"_GET AWAY! I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!" America screamed heroically. He scrambled backwards across the table, scattering papers and accidentally knocking his mug of hot coffee onto an empty chair._

"_Ow!" the chair yelped quietly. America didn't hear, and continued his mad retreat across the furniture. _

"_HAVE MERCY! HAVE MERCY! I SURRENDER, SEE? WHITE FLAG! WHITE FLAG!" Italy wailed. Germany grabbed him by the collar and deftly snatched the flag out of his hands. He shook Italy back and forth, causing his neck to whip back and forth painfully. _

"_No, Italy! Do not surrender, you idiot! I have trained you specifically for situations such as these!" Germany bellowed. Spittle flew from his mouth with enough force to make a hailstorm jealous. _

"_GERMANY, SAVE ME! DO NOT LET HIM MAKE ME EAT THAT CRAP!" Italy howled. _

_England's face fell. Russia melted out of the shadows and placed a hand on his shoulder. He smiled pleasantly. _

"_I think I would like one. I could use it for my bioweapons research, da?"_

_A wave of fear-induced nausea rolled over England, and the world spun and faded into darkness._

_-End Flashback-_

"The others probably just realized how much they were missing out on," England deduced. How he managed to come to this conclusion was a mystery.

Once the worst of the smoke had finally dissipated, England took a closer look at his scones. He plucked one off the tray and scrutinized it with a piercing green eye.

"Something doesn't seem right…but what?" he muttered. Perplexed, he put the burnt lump back down on the tray and pushed it into the oven.

"An extra five minutes ought to do it," he reasoned. Satisfied, he wiped his hands with a dishtowel and moved back to the counter.

He began to combine the ingredients for his fourth and final batch. Unsurprisingly, the concoction bubbled suspiciously and looked unstable enough to set off a Geiger counter.

"Don't worry, pals! I made some for you, too!" England said suddenly. He stopped stirring and waited for a reply. When he received none, his enormous eyebrows furrowed worriedly. "Friends? Where are you?"

He wandered out of the kitchen, spatula in hand, and began peering into various nooks and crannies. The smoke alarm beeped urgently, but he either didn't notice, or he did and he just didn't care. He had much more pressing matters to attend to, after all.

"I know what you're doing, you sillies. You want to play hide and go seek, don't you? Okay, I'll start! One…two…three…" England pressed his face against the wall and counted.

His magical friends, who were very real indeed, thank you very much, trembled in their hiding places.

"Get out o' here, Tinker Bell!" Captain Hook whispered. He crouched behind the sofa and tried unsuccessfully to shoo the faerie away. She folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot in midair.

"No! Go find yer own place ter hide!" the pirate whispered. She jingled in response, and the pirate, who seemed to understand, looked aghast.

"Tinker Bell! That be completely uncalled fer! I understand that the scone may seem a lot bigger ter _you,_ but I can't let him catch me either!"

"_Jingle!"_

"Absolutely not! Yer know murder be strictly against me beliefs!" Captain Hook exclaimed.

"_Tinkle!" _she protested.

"_Sssh! _He might hear yeh! And no, I 'ave already told yer that I absolutely refuse to partake in _any_ type of violence, no matter how dire the circumstances might be!"

"_Jingle!"_ the faerie snarled. She brandished a very sharp-looking needle and waved it about, slicing and jabbing and making it painfully obvious that she knew _exactly _what should be done to prevent England from cooking. The pacifistic pirate shuddered.

"Now, now, Tinker Bell, I doubt gouging his eyeballs and then forcing them down 'is throat covered in blood be the best plan of action here. Maybe we can think this over later when we—," Tinker Bell clapped a tiny hand over his mouth, a completely ineffective tactic, but one that got the point across. She put a finger to her lips and stomped her feet. Captain Hook's eyes widened.

She had heard footsteps. That could mean only one thing:

England was coming.

He pulled his knees closer to his chest and tried to make himself as small as possible. He could only pray that the sofa was large enough to hide his tall figure and England would somehow be unable to find him.

"Minty? Tinker Bell? Captain Hook? Uni? Where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are!" England sang. The light thudding of his footsteps increased in volume as he drew nearer, though they still had to strain to hear them over the wailing of the smoke alarm. The air in the room had taken on a fog-like quality. Tinker Bell, with a very serious expression, noted that it smelled _exactly_ like the broiled stomach of a goat herder who had recently eaten a two-and-a-half-week-old meat pie. The pirate tried not to think about this too much.

The smoke thickened. Breathing was becoming slightly difficult.

"Where _did _you go? It's not like you fellows to hide for this long…"

Tinker Bell held her needle at ready position. Captain Hook twisted one end of his moustache nervously.

"Tink—," he whispered. The faerie shot him a nasty look. He swallowed dryly and continued, even though he knew that first chance she got she would use that needle to sew his mouth shut.

"Tinker Bell—hear me out, wait! No! Put that down!" he exclaimed. He instinctively raised his good hand to protect his much-loved eyeballs. Reluctantly, she shifted her blade, changing her stance from, "most definitely will kill," to "seriously considering it".

"Tinker Bell…before I get to see ol' Cap'n Fenn again, there's something I've…been meaning ter tell ye. I…I—FIRE!" he shouted, jumping up suddenly and pointing.

England was preoccupied with peering under the table and didn't seem to hear him.

The fire had escaped the oven and consumed the kitchen, and was making rapid progress towards the rest of the house. In a last ditch effort, Captain Hook seized Tinker Bell round the middle and shook her high above his head. She shrieked in rage, emitting an ear-splitting sound that immediately grabbed the attention of the oblivious nation.

"There you are!" he cried happily. Something niggled urgently at the back of his mind.

"FIRE!" Captain Hook bellowed.

England frowned. He felt like there was something he was missing—something important.

"FIRE!" the captain repeated (he was near hysterics now). Tinker Bell struggled in his grasp. Flying Mint Bunny and Uni the unicorn emerged from their hiding spaces and tried to calm him down before he accidentally crushed her.

England's frown deepened. The niggling grew more urgent. He was DEFINITELY missing something.

"Fire," he thought. "Fire…burns."

England was by no means a stupid person; that would be America, and even he wasn't _that _dumb, rather he just let his ego get in the way of, well, everything. No, the problem England had was that whenever his magical friends were involved, it became difficult for him to focus on or even be aware of anything else that was happening in the 'real' world.

Therefore, the moment his aforementioned magical friends decided it was time to abandon ship in a puff of sparkly pink dust, reality came crashing down on him like a leaden sledgehammer.

"BLOODY HELL-_MY HOUSE IS ON FIRE_!"

The flames cracked smugly, as if congratulating themselves on a job well done.

"Blast it," England muttered. He swore fervently and wasted no time in swiping his favorite books off the shelf and dumping them into a large canvas sack that he kept on hand for such situations. The heat seared his skin and the smoke burned his nostrils, making seeing anything nearly impossible and moving around quite difficult. Nevertheless, he continued to gather irreplaceable possessions, items of emotional value (there weren't many of these; he learned his lesson the first time and stored them in a nice, safe place far away from the house or anywhere else the other nations might be) and whatever other knickknacks that hadn't already been reduced to a smoldering pile of ash. After a long and painful battle to retrieve his favorite teacup-which had miraculously survived- from the remains of the kitchen, he braved the flames and stumbled towards the door.

With great relief, he staggered into the fresh air, glad to have escaped being burned alive. While it would not kill him, it was still an extremely unpleasant experience, and one he wanted to avoid at all costs. He coughed, wiped his brow and set his bag down a good distance away.

Then, the personification of England leaned against a tree and watched with indifference as his house burned to the ground.

Again.

* * *

_A/N: _

_I used England's magical friends from the anime. Trust me, they have to be these ones, otherwise the story doesn't work. _

_Don't own Hetalia or MLP (which will be later), yada yada yada. _

_I understand that many of you may be anxious to see Equestria. I understand, but if you stick with me, you will be rewarded. PLEASE do not ask when the ponies will show. They WILL. I just have to develop the story so it seems believable first. I will try to make it as entertaining as possible. _

_I can't remember if I said this already, but no pairings. I don't want to make anybody angry. _

_Until later, _

_-Conn_


	3. How to Kill a Germany

Chapter Two: How to Kill a Germany

Whenever it was Russia's turn to host the G8 meeting, everybody else came up with some absurd excuse not to go and secretly would meet up at Germany's because he just so happened to be the next nation in line. It is also worthy of note that these secret meetings in Germany always took place directly after the meeting in the United Kingdom. This worked out rather nicely in that it meant England's place always had to be rebuilt so he could actually have a spot to hold the meeting, and therefore would have a kitchen.

The kitchen was of significant importance because, as the years went by, the other nations began to run out of excuses.

At first, they panicked.

Then came Germany, who, with his booming voice and commanding presence, restored order to the chaos that was known as the world (or so Italy says, anyways).

What _really _happened was that everybody was running around screaming in a great big hectic mass, Germany showed up, and they all stopped. This was partly because Germany came in, but mostly it was because Prussia followed him.

And _nobody _wanted to give Prussia a reason to start making fun of them, because then he would start going on about how much more awesome he was than they, and then no amount of yelling and screaming could ever get him to shut up again.

Of course, he talked about how awesome he was regardless, but the time that was used to wage a miniature war, knock him unconscious, tie him up, gag him, and throw him in a broom closet was time enough for Germany to seize control of the situation and attempt to set strict rules to prevent further disarray.

The meeting went something like this:

"Listen up!" he commanded, "As you all know, ten minutes of this meeting will be dedicated to-"

"DIE, FROG!"

"— and we can end world hunger by making a GIANT hamburger and naming it Ultra-Hero-Meatatron!"

"Germany, can I make pasta?"

"I'm Canada…"

A brief moment of silence passed.

"Did you-ack- just hear something?" France choked out. England tightened his hold on his opponent's throat.

"It was probably nothing," Russia concluded. He pulled a pirozhok out of his water pipe and started eating it as if it were perfectly normal.

"WHEN DID YOU GET HERE?!" everybody yelled simultaneously.

"Mother Russia has always been here, because Russia is everywhere," Russia answered.

And thus, the screaming and panicking resumed.

All in all, the meeting was a complete failure, they accomplished absolutely nothing, and still nobody had a believable reason to avoid the upcoming summit in Russia.

Then, several months later, Germany had an idea, sparked when his older brother passed out from the consumption of England's so-called cooking.

He called it: Operation Scones of Death. Italy, on the other hand, had lovingly dubbed it "Operation: SOD"

Germany's plan was very simple. Step One: Go to England's house and demand scones. Step Two: Take the scones to the secret assembly. Step Three: Get the others to eat the scones, after which they will get sick and have an acceptable reason to remain independent.

He hadn't been expecting Lithuania to call and ask if they were all eating snow, however, Poland doomed them all, so the only thing that really changed were the stakes.

Steps One and Two were easy enough; Germany made sure to request far more scones than were actually necessary, as England's kitchen was likely to catch fire when the order was halfway filled. He also made sure to send someone to pick up the goods the moment they were done so that they would not go up in flame along with the house. This was a very intelligent decision, because he later received a call from England saying that, due to uncontrollable circumstances, he would be unable to make the rest of the scones (unless, of course, Germany would be willing to allow him to borrow _his _kitchen, to which Germany resolutely refused).

Step Three, however, was proving to be somewhat problematic.

"Come on, Italy, it won't kill you," Germany coaxed.

Italy said nothing, instead he squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips together defiantly.

"Look at my brother over there; he is still alive, yah?" Germany said. He gestured to Prussia, who sat quietly at the table, finishing the script for his autobiographical documentary, "The Awesome Me: Why I Am Better than You Losers".

"Prussia is not even a nation anymore and he is still here. I think it is time we accepted the fact that he is somehow more immortal than the rest of us," Austria said. His scone sat on the plate, uneaten. "Normally, I would trust you, but I suspect that if anybody other than America, Prussia, and England himself so much as _licked_ one of his baking atrocities they would roll over and die just like Greece over there."

Indeed, the cat-loving country lay motionless in the middle of the floor, a half-eaten scone on the carpet beside him. Hungary poked him with the handle of her frying pan.

"Is he dead?" Spain asked curiously.

"I think so, but he might be sleeping. It's kind of hard to tell," she admitted. A vein throbbed in Germany's forehead.

"Listen! Austria, Hungary, Spain, you are not helping! In fact-," he pointed at every nation in the room in turn, "You, and you, and you, and you, and all of _you_ shouldn't even be here! I did not have to call all of Eurasia—,"

"And America!" America interjected. Germany sighed, not at all happy about his rant being interrupted.

"I did not have to call all of Eurasia _and America who was not even invited_," Germany said with a pointed look at the younger nation. America seemed happy, so Germany continued, "to this meeting today! But _nein_, I decided to be nice, and offered to save all of you. Now EAT THE SCO-,"

Prussia took advantage of the long "o" sound and swiftly jammed a lump of SOD into his brother's mouth.

"Hey, guess what?" Italy announced excitedly, "Germany's going to eat it!"

The others immediately ceased whatever activity they had previously been doing and looked on with interest. They clustered eagerly around the two brothers.

Germany blanched, but was unable to come up with a way to properly react to the situation. He weighed his options. "_If I refuse it_," he thought, "_then I will never live it down. However, if I do eat it…"_

He felt the pressure of over forty pairs of eyes focused on him. They were all waiting to see if he would make a move.

There was a deafening silence. Germany then abandoned all hope and braced himself for the worse, ignoring all the flashing red warning signs and casting aside all basic instincts of self-preservation.

Prussia smirked slightly as he held onto the end of the scone. Germany gulped nervously. The other nations watched quietly with keen expressions. His jaw twitched.

He began to chew.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch_

Everybody unconsciously leaned forward in anticipation.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch_

"He is brave," Finland whispered. Sweden nodded.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch_

Swallow.

"See? I am…," said Germany, wobbling a bit, "…fine."

Then, without further ado, his eyes rolled upwards into his head and he crumbled into a heap on the floor.

The remaining nations looked on in a stunned silence. Then-

"Big Brudder, can I have one?"

"No, Liechtenstein, you may not," answered Switzerland firmly. He pulled her closer and put his hands on her shoulders protectively, rupturing the delicate bubble of stillness that had fallen over the crowd.

"NO! GERMANY'S DEAD! GERMANY, I NEED YOU! DON'T DIE!" Italy wailed suddenly, just as Prussia doubled over with laughter. Italy broke away from the ranks of onlookers and threw himself down beside his friend. "WHY, GERMANY?!" he sobbed.

"No need to fear, Italy! I'm the hero!" America proclaimed helpfully, surrounded by rays of golden glory. He knelt down next to Germany. "As the hero, it is my duty to revive him!"

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an obscenely large box of French fries.

"Behold!" he yelled grandly, holding it high above his head, "I shall now use this deadly yet delicious and addicting box of pure heart attack to save Germany!"

"Where is that light coming from?" France asked Prussia, referring to the golden beams rotating around America. A mysterious cloud of sparkles twinkled around the carton of fries in a rather similar fashion.

"Oh, that?" said Prussia, "That's just the Divine Light of Awesomeness. It appears whenever something is being particularly awesome. It is so awesome that it surrounds the Awesome Me all the time. You haven't noticed?"

France had not. He vaguely wondered if Prussia had a thesaurus, and made a mental note to get him one the next time he was out hunting for romance novels.

"Stand back, Italy," America warned.

"No! What are you going to do to Germany?!" Italy asked. He clung desperately to the front of Germany's uniform.

"It's okay, I'm the hero. You can trust me," America reassured him gently. Italy sniffed, and after much convincing, reluctantly moved off to the side.

Then, with a flourish, the self-proclaimed hero proudly up-ended the box of fries onto Germany's unconscious body.

"Um…Mr. America, I do not believe that will help," Japan informed him politely. America waved him off casually.

"No, it most definitely will work," he said confidently. He watched the body as if he were expecting something to happen.

Germany, on his part, did not move.

A few seconds passed. Germany failed to show any signs of life.

"Okay, he's dead," America announced jovially. Hungary poked the limp body with the handle of her frying pan.

Germany continued to remain lifeless. America frowned and readjusted his glasses.

"Hmph. That usually works. Maybe the dude really _is _gone," he said.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Italy howled. "GERMANY CANNOT DIE! DO SOMETHING!"

America nodded, and skillfully dumped another absurdly large carton full of French fries on top of the fallen nation. While considerate, the action accomplished nothing other than to obscure the body from view.

"Is he really…" Prussia asked, trailing off. Hungary nodded grimly. Prussia snorted, and struggled to hide his amusement.

"I shall now channel my sadness into music," Austria said sorrowfully. He sat down at a piano that had not been there mere moments before and began to play a slow, mournful melody. Most of the other nations hung their heads in a soundless remembrance. Italy, however, wept very loudly, and Prussia had to be escorted from the room, the whole while roaring with depraved laughter.

Greece, who spent most of his time sleeping anyways, was forgotten.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Germany fans, don't kill me. _

_Please, I like being alive. If you leave me alone, I promise I will make it all better shortly. And yes, because I probably won't elaborate on it later, Greece is indeed just snoozing._

_Don't own anything, you know the drill by now. _

_Until next time (hopefully), _

_-Conn_


	4. How to Properly Deal With Angry Mobs

Chapter Four: How to Properly Deal with Angry Mobs

England was more than mad.

He was _livid._ Vehement. Almost _corybantic. _

After all, one can only have their house burned to a crisp so many times before it began to get on the nerves. Worse than that, all of his best tea had gone up in smoke, and that, he found, was rather irritating.

However, having to inform his boss that he would need a new place to live—_ again,_ and that he would need a lift to Berlin- _again_, and that he would also need more tea- _again_, he found rather irritating as well.

After an hour's worth of trudging doggedly through the English countryside, and another good amount of time spent sitting in a cheap airline seat while covered in ash as part of the punishment, he finally hauled himself to the majestic front doors of Germany's house.

The doors creaked open invitingly. He stepped inside, prepared to separate France's head from his shoulders for no reason other than to let off some steam, and was instead shocked to find what looked like a funeral procession in full swing.

His first thought was, "Bugger! Somebody's killed France already!"

His second thought was, "What in the world did America do to Germany?"

He stood uncomfortably in the doorway with the odd feeling that he was interrupting something important. Austria's music screeched to a halt, and all the grievers stared at him.

Unsurprisingly, America was the one to address him first.

"SLAUGHTERER! KILLER! England, how? How could you? I TRUSTED YOU! HOW COULD YOU MURDER IN SUCH COLD BLOOD?" America accused loudly. The Divine Light of Awesomeness surrounded him once more as he assumed Hero Pose Variation Four: Avatar of Justice. Several of the other nations tried with little success to mimic him; Sealand in particular looked as if Prussia had invaded his one and only vital region and replaced it with bad cabbage.

"You are the one responsible for his death!" Austria said in an uncharacteristically hoarse voice. He struck what he believed to be a displeasing chord in rage and anguish.

"GER-HER-MAAA-HAAA-NYYYY!" bawled Italy.

"W-what?" England asked in bewilderment. "I didn't! What are you wankers going on about?!,"

"YOU KILLED HIM, YOU FIENDISH VILLAIN!" America shouted. All of Eurasia converged behind him. "YOU KILLED GERMANY!"

"And Greece," Japan added sadly.

"WHAT HE SAID!" America yelled.

"WHAT HE SAID!" the nations behind him chorused. They began to march forward menacingly.

"B-but I wasn't even here!" protested England, suddenly feeling as if his safety was somehow being put in jeopardy.

"GERMANY SHALL BE AVENGED IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE!" America bellowed.

"And Greece," Japan reminded him.

"AND THAT GUY TOO!" America added. The countries behind him sounded their agreement.

"BUT I DIDN'T EVEN _DO _ANYTHING!" England cried. He took several steps back and fumbled for something—anything—he could use to defend himself. The massive, black-clad mass inched forward, some of the more pro-German powers softly chanting about vengeance with a disturbing calm, yet malevolent undertone. His fingers wrapped around the handle of his wand.

"I have no idea what I did or how I did it, but if you come one step nearer, I'll…I'll…turn you all into babies! Or…or…mushrooms, or beetles, or something!" he threatened, his voice wavering. He pointed his wand at the proceeding mob and cursed his hand for trembling. "Stay back, I say! GET AWAY!"

The mob advanced. Alarm coursed through England.

"NO! _GET AWAY! DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!" _he shrieked with a small note of hysteria.

The small army paid his threats no heed and came closer anyways. England, with his back pressed against the doors, felt around behind him for the knob as he attempted to keep the angry countries at bay. He tried to think of a spell he could use against them without provoking another World War, but it was to no avail. When he needed it most, his mind failed him. He resisted the urge to bang his traitorous head against the wall.

"Of course the bloody door had to open only one way," he muttered to himself. Knowing he would regret it later, he asked, "Could this day get any worse?"

In the background, Austria pounded out a particularly evil sounding nocturne.

"Austria, I am about to die! Don't you find the music to be a _little bit_ unnecessary?" England asked irritably. Austria, in turn, stuck his nose in the air and did an impressive crescendo, making his song even louder than before.

"CHARGE!" hollered America, taking this as some kind of cue and following up the command with a primitive, raw-throated battle cry.

England gripped his wand tighter and observed the enraged horde of mourners calling for his blood.

He decided to take his chances with World War III and raised his magic stick.

"WAIT!" someone yelled, causing England freeze in mid-cast and thus saving a large portion of the world from living out the rest of their _very_ long lives as Mediterranean saproxylic beetles. "Why are we following _him_? You should all be following _me_, because I am the eldest -aru!"

This diverted America's attention, and without their commander, the other nations halted their march.

"NO WAY, MAN! I'M THE HERO! IT'S MY DUTY!"

"I am THE ELDEST! IT IS MY RIGHT!" China roared. He pulled out his wok and launched himself at America.

"Hungary! I choose you!" America said with all too much enthusiasm. He pointed at nothing in particular with a sparkling grin.

"RAAAAHHHHH!" Hungary bellowed as she leapt out of the crowd, her black dress billowing dramatically. She raised her frying pan to strike down China. Wok met pan in a clash of red and yellow sparks.

"I MISS YOU G-GER-HER-MAAAANNNYYYYY!" Italy sobbed.

"Oh, shut it!" England snapped. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on.

"YOUR BREASTS ARE MINE, DA-ZE!" South Korea suddenly declared. He leapt out of the crowd, his hands outstretched and reaching for China's chest.

"I AM NOT A WOMAN-ARU!" China said angrily. He swung his wok around to intercept South Korea, and Hungary took advantage of the opportunity and whacked China across the head.

"That was not fair!" China exclaimed.

"It wasn't supposed to be!" Hungary retorted. She swung her weapon around and hit China a second time, and followed up with a strike to the torso that sent China flying into the opposite wall.

A dark shadow fell over South Korea.

"You dare," he said ominously, "You dare damage the breasts?"

Hungary froze.

"YOU CANNOT DAMAGE THE BREASTS! THE BREASTS BELONG TO MEEEEEEE!" Korea howled. Without hesitation, he lunged at Hungary, a feral, unrestrained fury flashing in his eyes.

"DIE!" he roared. A bead of sweat rolled down Hungary's forehead.

"I AM THE LEADER-ARU!" China said. Since his opponent was occupied, he decided to take the matter straight to source and faced off with America.

"I AM THE HERO! THEREFORE _I _AM THE LEADER!" America argued. France decided to offer his opinion on the matter.

"I think _I _should be the leader, because love triumphs over all, and because I am sexier than both of you put together," he said. The other two ignored him.

"I AM A SUPER-TOTALLY-EPIC HERO!"

"YOU ARE IN DEBT TO ME! AND I AM OLDER-ARU!"

"SUCK IT, LOSERS! MY ARMIES SHALL CRUSH YOU!" someone shouted over the tumult.

"WHO LET HIM IN?!" several people yelled. Prussia grinned triumphantly. Austria scowled, and his nocturne started to sound suspiciously like war music.

In the midst of fighting amongst themselves, none of them bothered to notice that a certain someone had managed to slip away.

Meanwhile, completely forgotten, Italy was sharing some of his warmest, fuzziest memories he had of Germany with anyone who cared to listen.

"…and then there was the time we were training and England tried to kill us, and the other time England tried to kill us, and the time England and America and China and Russia and everybody else tried to kill us all at once, and…"

There was a muffled moan.

"…then after that we made pasta together, well, I made pasta and Germany yelled a lot, but the pasta was very tasty, and…"

Another moan. The pile of fries rustled a little.

"…and I was showing Germany my new tanks, and it reminded me of the time when he was showing me how to throw grenades…"

The pile rustled a little more.

"GAAAHHH! ZOMBIE!" America shrieked. He pointed at Germany, who had pulled himself into a sitting position, a mildly perturbed look spreading across his face. He groaned suddenly and clutched at his stomach. Prussia looked over and gave him the "everybody-thought-you-were-dead-can-you-believe-that" look.

"You should see the look on your face, West! It's totally _un_awesome! Kesesesese-,"he laughed.

"Nnnggg…" Germany groaned. His face scrunched up and he looked rather green.

Italy, oblivious to the recent change in Germany's condition, continued orally relive every moment he had spent with him.

"I-Italy?" Germany called weakly. "Why am I-,"

Without warning, the entire scone incident came rushing back to him in a flood of unpleasant memory (though it didn't explain the twenty pounds of French fries currently residing in his lap; he suspected America had something to do with _that_).

He groaned again; his internal organs felt as if they were trying their best to beat the living daylights out of each other.

A gurgling sound rose from his digestive tract. His eyes widened.

In a flash, he leapt to his feet, shoved a startled Italy out of the way, and ran very quickly out of the room, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. He skidded around a corner and sprinted down the hall.

He only prayed he would reach his destination in time.

* * *

Meanwhile, England leaned against the side of a building and wished for alcohol.

A nice, big, fat bottle of rum would be nice. He rubbed his eyes, tucked his wand into his sleeve, and sat down. For a while, he listened to the sounds of the German civilians carrying out their daily routines.

A big, fat bottle of rum would be _very_ nice indeed, he thought again as he sulked over the day's events. He felt a familiar buzz of magic, and brightened slightly as Flying Mint Bunny manifested, hovering near his shoulder comfortingly. He buried his face in his hands, and his companion hummed softly, a calming, yet somehow playful, tuneless vibration. After a time, England lifted his eyes and spoke.

"Flying Mint Bunny?" he said wearily. Flying Mint Bunny glowed a little in response. England opened his mouth to continue.

Had he known what great consequences his next four words would bring, he probably never would have said them, and opted instead to remain with his magical chum in a comfortable silence. However, he did not know, and obliviously he proceeded to utter the innocent phrase that, unbeknownst to all, would set the pendulum in motion and spark a chain of events that would send everything spiraling into chaos.

"You're a great friend."

* * *

_A/N:_

_See, I told you it would be alright. _

_I am still alive, so thank you for not murdering me while I slept. A special thanks to Both Sides of the Gate, NinjalyJen, and guest reviewer KingofAWESOME for their support :) Ponies will be making an appearance shortly. _

_Until next time, _

_-Conn_


	5. In Which Uni is Enraged

Chapter Three: In Which Uni is Enraged

Tony lounged on the couch with his feet up and his head propped against one arm. He lazily flicked through the television channels.

He was bored.

He swore and reached for another hamburger. He took a bite, frowned, lifted the bun, and scrutinized the burger's innards. He swore some more. There was no mustard.

Casting aside the defective burger, he took a slurp of his soda and frowned again. He sighed and let out a string of expletives.

Today was not his day. Frustrated, he flung the remote onto the footstool and rose to his feet.

He needed something to do.

* * *

Uni listened intently to the exchange between England and Minty. He had been following the nation all day long, silently observing and meticulously cataloging his every move. Not in a creepy-stalker kind of way, no, he was far too good for that. Rather, he watched him in a creepy-admirer-who-would-follow-you-into-the-bathroom sort of way.

There was a difference.

Uni hid behind a corner and- eavesdropped was such a nasty word- _intentionally overhead_ what England had to say to that wretched, flying green abomination.

"Flying Mint Bunny, you're a great friend."

Uni reeled back, stung.

"_Flying Mint Bunny, you're a _**great friend**_," _his mind echoed darkly.

He gnashed his teeth. How dare England, _his _England, _his _best friend, say something like that to anybody else?

It was unacceptable.

Uni resisted the urge to leap out of the shadows and trample that Flying Mold Rodent then and there. '_No, no, trampling wouldn't do, ´_ he chided himself, '_that's far too civilized.' _

He snuck a glance at the fantastical rabbit. _'Perhaps I could drive my horn straight through its middle, slicing through its stomach and winding through its intestines, and then pop out the back, severing the spinal cord. Yes, that could work. Then, I could smash and trample its remains to my heart's content. My horn _is _fairly sharp; it could do the job quite nicely,' _he thought. He tried to admire the bony projection protruding from his forehead and scowled (as much as a horse could) when he discovered that he could not.

Flying Mint Bunny landed delicately on England's shoulder and nibbled playfully on his ear. England laughed. Uni gagged.

_'Why that little—I should make it eat its own entrails for that! The nerve!' _

He began to pace in very small circles.

"Minty, stop! That tickles!" England exclaimed. Minty's glow increased a watt while Uni glowered.

_Completely_ unacceptable. Something had to be done. Of that, he was certain.

He listened enviously to the two's merriment. England chuckled as Minty completed a complex series of aerial somersaults, all thoughts of alcohol forgotten.

_'Why is he laughing? He shouldn't be _laughing_! He should be trying to contain his disgust for such a vile creature, not giggling like a ten-year-old schoolgirl! Flying Mint Bunny isn't even that cute!'_

Flying Mint Bunny grasped its hind feet with its short forelegs and did a backwards tumble-turn. It squeaked, finding itself stuck on its back and unable to sit upright again. England made a funny snuffling sound and pushed it over the rest of the way.

Uni's horn glowed, and a well-worn notepad materialized out of a pocket dimension (pocket dimensions, he discovered, were extraordinarily useful. An old acquaintance of his by the name of King Sombra had once stored an entire empire inside of one for a thousand years).

He flipped to the page marked '?'and hastily scrawled, "_snuffle"_. In the margin adjacent to it, he recorded the date, the exact time the snuffle was made, how the snuffle was made, and a brief description of the snuffle itself and the circumstances under which it took place.

Flying Mint Bunny did another loop-de-loop. Much to his alarm, Uni felt his resolve beginning to soften.

_'NO! You HATE that thing! It is NOT cute! It is NOT! It is REVOLTING and REPUNGANT and NAUSEATING and DISGUSTING and looks really, really soft…' _his angry thoughts faded as they were replaced by an unfamiliar warm, tingly feeling. _'It probably feels like chinchilla fur…' _he added as an afterthought. It really did look as if it would be pleasing to the touch**.** The hairs were plentiful, shiny, and gave off a welcoming gleam. Uni shifted his weight uncertainly. Maybe it was not _all _Minty's fault; there was no way something so adorable could be that bad.

He chewed his lip nervously. He had never been unsure about anything before. He shrank further back into the shadows.

He was still convinced that action needed to be taken to address the situation, however, if it wasn't Miny's doing, then whose? He observed the two for some minutes before making his decision.

England.

It was all ENGLAND.

Uni stood up a little straighter and flexed the muscles in his neck. He knew it, just as surely as he knew that the sky was blue and the grass was green. He flipped through his notepad, circling page numbers and underlining various passages as he went. After a moment of methodical searching, his eyes began to scan over an old entry:

_3/12. _

_[6:42:18] Ingland ran out ov shampoo. _

_[7:12:09] Ingland startid mayking toest. _

_[7:38:49] Ingland burnt hiz feenger on the toestir wilst mayking a valleyant efort to remoov the toest. The toestir itself waz burnt as well. _

Uni skipped down a few lines.

_[16:02:54] Ingland discoverd a browny that had mayde its home beneeth the floorboreds. He sayd to it: "I am glad you cayme to visit, but if you had told me, I would have fownd a more plesant place for you to live," _

Uni stamped his hoof after he read the last sentence. Before him lay concrete evidence, the solid proof of England's betrayal. Somehow, when he had originally put it on the paper, the true meaning of the nation's seemingly innocent actions had escaped him. To think that England would act so cruelly, under the pretense of offering housing to a stray faerie! It was abhorrent.

However, now England was exposed for the cheating, lying scumbag that he was, and his crimes would not go unpunished. Uni would make sure of that. He cackled gleefully to himself.

Revenge was not a dish best served cold.

It was a dish best served hot. With lots and lots of tabasco sauce.

Uni the unicorn was, in fact, not really a unicorn. Well, he _was_ a unicorn, that much was obvious, but as mentioned before, not _quite_.

He was of a somewhat stockier build than most, and his legs were a little bit fatter than most, and his head was about three times as large as most.

Of course, hardly anybody ever saw him like this, firstly because shortly after his arrival, several of the magical beings already inhabiting Earth kept asking why her eyes took up two thirds of the abnormally vast surface area of her face, and secondly because they kept asking why she was just so dang _cute_.

This all would have been fine for him, had he not had to stress the fact that HE happened to be a BOY.

Therefore, in order to ease the rapidly growing problem, he used some of his magic and changed his appearance to resemble that of the modern Earth unicorn, with thinner legs, a flatter mane, and a considerably smaller head.

The infuriating part was that, the moment all was said and done, pony-sized unicorns went out of fashion in favor of the taller, more elegantly styled ones, and the few individuals who possessed the Sight quickly forgot about him. After that, he packed up his things and struck out in a random direction in search of a way back home.

Then he discovered England.

England, the blond-haired, green-eyed nation with the eyebrows that put wooly bear caterpillars to shame, the one who understood his loneliness, and gave Uni the chance to maybe, just maybe, have the one thing he had never had before.

A friend.

Suddenly, all desire to return to his native Equestria disappeared. He didn't NEED to go back, he realized. He had a friend, and that was more than anything he had ever had when he lived on the outskirts of Canterlot. Sure, he missed the tall, towering spires of the palace, the festivities, and the brightly colored landscape; however, it was worth losing it all—for England.

Or so he thought.

The day that those four words passed from England's lips was the day Uni was forced to watch his world crumble and fall around him. Additionally, on the account of a mystical, mysterious, unexplainable force, it was also on that day that, in a dimension far, far away, a certain pony started having a mini-seizure.

"Pinkie, what's wrong?" Applejack asked concernedly. She set aside her bucket of fresh apples and trotted over to help her friend.

Pinkie twitched, gasped, and made a dramatic show of clawing at her throat before toppling over backwards.

"Pinkie?" Applejack prodded her with a hoof. Pinkie Pie's tongue lolled out of her mouth. Applejack sighed.

"I know you're awake, Pinkie," she said. Pinkie sprang to her feet in an instant.

"Oh! Hi there, Applejack!" she exclaimed as she bounced around Applejack in circles. "Guueeeessss what!"

"What?" Applejack asked. Pinkie refused to answer.

"You didn't guess!" she said.

"Uh… you finally beat your record and ate eight-two cupcakes in one sittin'?" the country pony guessed half-heartedly. Pinkie bounced.

"Nope! Don't you remember, I broke that record a looong time ago. Guess again!" she said. She gave no time for a reply. "My Pinkie Sense just told me that something REALLY big is going to happen, like a-"

"Like a doozy?" Applejack interjected as she shook her head to clear away the nausea. Pinkie shook her head vigorously, and watching her, Applejack felt sick all over again.

"More like a super-duper-extra-dooziticular-megaginormical doozy of a doozidumplon doozisimo!"

Applejack was fairly certain that "dooziticular," was not a real word, but knew better than to argue. She foolishly asked what Pinkie thought the doozy (technically the super-duper-extra-dooziticular-megaginormical doozy of a doozidumplon doozisimo) was going to be.

"Well, if it had been right-ear-flop-left-hoof-twitch-shudder-jump-tail-shake-sneeze, then it would have meant that Twilight was going to catch a cold, and if it was right-front-hoof-tickle-nose-itch-skip-shiver-left-ear-wiggle-eye-wink, then it would have meant that it would start raining strawberry cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles and chocolate frosting—,"

"That actually happened?"

"Of COURSE it did, silly!" Pinkie said, rolling her eyes, "Where else do you think all the chocolate came from?"

Applejack had no reply to this, so Pinkie Pie continued excitedly, "The cupcakes that fall from the _blue _clouds are the best, because the ones from the _pink_ clouds don't have as many yellow sprinkles. But the frosting from the greenish-purplish-brownish-clouds tastes a little bit sweeter than the ones from the _blue_ clouds, so sometimes I can't decide which cupcakes I want to eat! So, I just eat them all!"

"That's how I feel about some of our zap-apple jam!" Applejack exclaimed, her eyes lighting up, "The jam made from apples in the west orchard is a not as tart than the jam from the apples in the east orchard, but the east orchard jam has a little extra kick to it and I still can't decide which is tastes best!"

As their talk drifted farther and farther away from the original topic, the doozy gradually faded away into the back of their unsuspecting minds.

Zap-apple cupcakes did make for very good conversation, after all.

* * *

A/N:

Uni the unicorn, paparazzi-style. Sorry for OOC-ness. On another note, PONIES! Proof of crossover-dom here, doubters! I finally have wheels moving now. Thanks for sticking with me, folks.

Catch ya later,

-Conn


End file.
